


the love you're missing

by witchy_country616



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchy_country616/pseuds/witchy_country616
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recently married Eleanor Guthrie-Rogers visits Charles Vane, stirring back old feelings and putting new resolutions to the test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the love you're missing

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet based on this Brazilian samba song called Batendo a porta (something like slamming the door) by João Nogueira. Something to get me off my writer's block. Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine.

_Her mom used to tell her stories growing up, before she died. Not Cinderella or Snow White, but real stories, about kings and queens that lived a long time ago. She liked those. Eleanor always imagined herself as Queen. Nassau as her kingdom and she would do everything she could to protect it. Turns out real life is not that different from make-belief._

*

He heard the commotion first, the catcalls from men and the begging from kids that usually followed a visit from one of the rich people down to the poorest part of Nassau where he lived, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. It was 10am and he was still hangover from last night’s drinking with Jack and Anne. Whatever that ruckus was, it could wait until he started feeling human again. He only considered that _maybe_ it had something to do with him when he heard the insistent knocking on his door.

“What? Who is it?” He yelled from the kitchen while setting a pot of water to boil in the stove for the coffee. But whomever it was it didn’t answer his question, only knocked harder. “Fuck.” Frustrated and still sleepy, Charles went to open the door, bare-chested and only wearing an old pair of black pants, determined to tell Jack or Anne to shove it up their ass for bothering him this early in the day.

Only it wasn’t Jack or Anne. It wasn’t even Max demanding the money he owed her. Eleanor Guthrie (Guthrie-Rogers, he had to remember that) stood outside, all-dolled up, a fierce look on her eyes and raising her hand to knock again. Nothing could’ve prepared him for that.

She looked him up and down, and then said in her customary annoyed voice, “Charles. Good of you too finally come open the door.”

Without saying a word, he stepped aside and let her in. “Eleanor.”

She walked purposefully to the living room, turning around as if check if anything had changed. Nothing had, though. Charles’ small house close to the beach on this bad side of town had stayed the same since she last saw it six months ago. There was a living room decorated with the bare minimal, a worn-down sofa and a coffee table, the surf boards packed neatly against the wall his only indulgence; a stuffy kitchen, clean, but virtually impossible for two people to stand there at the same time; and a door ahead, leading to the one bedroom with an attached bath.

On the other hand, it was clear to Charles how much Eleanor had changed, looking even more out of place than usual. Elegantly dressed in a white skirt suit, with a salmon pink silk blouse underneath, and nude pumps that left her as tall as Charles, she looked ready to host the next cocktail party for the rich and famous, the politicians and businessmen she now hang out with. Nothing like the carefree girl who used to run around the beach with him wearing only a bikini and a sarong cover up. Back then her social status still had been clear, but not something she advertised. Even her beloved funky jewelry, bought from the street vendors down the beach, had been replaced by large and thin golden earrings, a matching bracelet of intricate design and the infamous wedding ring. Classic, elegant and expensive, just like that new husband of hers. It crossed Charles’ mind that what she was wearing probably cost more than everything he had on his house put together and she would still have some change. That made him chuckle and she looked back at him, eyebrows raised, wondering what was so funny.

Unsure if he would tell her, she asked instead, “Do you mind if I sit down?”, already moving towards the couch.

He shrugged his shoulders, indifferent. “Make yourself at home.”

“We need to talk, Charles.”

“I wasn’t under the impression we still had anything to talk about. But, by all means, talk.”

She sighed. “Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being anything. You talk, I listen. I’m making coffee, do you want some?” He crossed the room (the five steps it took) to the open kitchen on the left and Eleanor turned to look at him, but stayed sitting on the sofa. All the better, because if she had come to his house to stir things up, he would need all the distance he could get.

“Sure, it’s just that we haven’t talked since…”

Charles interrupted her drily, “Since you came here, fucked me right on that living room floor and then dropped the bomb that you’re marrying some other guy, yeah, I remember.”

“I had no choice! If I hadn’t married Rogers, I would never get back what was rightfully _mine_. My house, my land, my money, my plans for Nassau, all of that gone thanks to my father and his schemes. You know this. After the government seized everything, I had nothing, I barely escaped prison myself and they all turned their backs on me. I was in the _dirt_ , tossed aside like some rabid dog.”

Charles didn’t mention that after everyone turned their backs on her, he didn’t. She had been in the dirt, yes, but she had been _with him_ and for a while it seemed it would be enough. But no matter how happy he thought they had been, it hadn’t been enough. And it never would be.

“And Rogers could give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” His voice was tired and raspy, barely above a whisper, as if this was a conclusion he had reached a long time ago and didn’t need to shout at her.

Eleanor nodded first and then faced him head on. “Yes. He could. And he did.”

Charles dropped his gaze from her to the coffee cups he had just poured; avoiding the honesty he could see in her eyes.

“I’m glad to hear everything is going good for you.” He finally said, coming back to sit on the other side of the sofa, passing her cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar.”

“Thank you.” She said taking a sip. “But that’s not why I came here.”

“No, I don’t imagine it is.” His yellow smile told her he wasn’t expecting anything good to come from this visit.

“I have missed you.” She said moving on the couch closer to him.

“Eleanor…” Charles said as a warning, though he refused to look at her.

“Eleanor, what? Eleanor, stop or Eleanor, don’t stop?” Closer, she moved one of her hands to his thigh, tracing patterns on the pant fabric.

“Stop. I’m not doing this.” He tried to master some conviction on his voice, but even to him he sounded pained.

Her wolfish smile let him know she didn’t believe him. When he moved his hand to take hers out of his thigh she simply interlocked their fingers, caressing his thumb softly.

Telegraphing her moves, she came closer, on of her hands still locked on his, the other on his thigh, her head dropping for a kiss. Her mouth was a breath away when he finally found the will to push her aside and get up from the couch.

She got up in a flash too. “What kind of sick game is this?”

Charles was outraged. “You come here, and I’m the one playing games?”

“You know you want it too. You never had it as good as this. Having to do with your own hands and those whores for the last six months…I bet they can’t get you off as fast and as good as I can.”

“Eleanor, I’m serious, you need to stop.”

“Tell me you don’t like it. Tell me you’re not itching to drop me the couch and take me from behind. Tell me you wouldn’t have done it already if it wasn’t for your fucking pride.”

“I want you. I don’t think there’s a single day I don’t want you.”

“Then be a man and take me.”

Her taunting was enough to make him slip up on his resolutions and kiss her hard on the mouth, pushing her against his chest and molding their bodies together. God, he had missed this. Her tongue on his mouth, battling his, demanding passage, as if she wanted to consume him as much as be consumed by him. Eleanor was an addiction, one he would never be able to get rid off. Her hands were already moving down his chest to his pants, and his weren’t behind, moving her skirt up to her waist, preparing to tear her panties and take her right on the couch…

Was that his life? Would they keep doing this forever? Her coming to him to scratch an itch and him being too much of a romantic fool to say no? Would he always give in to her? Didn’t he know it all ended the same way? With him begging…

_Side with me. And we’ll keep our freedom, for another day, another month, another year. Do you believe me?_

And her betraying him…

_You will turn on absolutely anyone, won’t you?_

He knew this. God, he knew this. Why was he still making the same mistake?

“Stop. We need to stop.” He repeated like a mantra, getting away from her and dropping to the floor by the couch.

“What? What the hell are you doing, Charles?” Eleanor sound pissed, something that usually got him going faster than anything. He looked up at her before answering, her hair disheveled, her silk blouse torn up, her skirt bundled around her waist, nothing like the prim and proper lady that knocked on his door half and hour ago. God, he used to love her so much. _Used to._

“You’ve taught me a lesson once. It’s been effective.” Sadly, he added mentally. He wanted nothing more than take what she was given, no questions asked. In the past, he would’ve. It looked like he was finally growing up.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eleanor looked genuinely confused.

“Six months ago… I was ready to give up everything for you. I promised you the world, and I’d have fought everyone for us to keep it, for one day, one month, one year. But it wasn’t enough. You still chose him, the big house on the hills, the fancy clothes, the money, the _legitimacy_ you always craved. And I realized nothing that I could do, nothing that I would promise would never be enough. You see, you would always be looking for the next best thing. What the next play would be, who could give you more. And if we were ever truly together, Eleanor, I would spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulders, paranoid, waiting for you to throw me right into the fucking sea.”

“Charles, I…” She looked almost ashamed of herself, but not remorseful. No, Eleanor didn’t feel any remorse for what she had done. He admired that in her, her blind certainty of having done what had to be done to achieve the greater good.

“You came here looking for something that we once had, because that passion Rogers can’t give you. Unfortunately, you’re missing a love that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. Whatever we had, the love we once shared, it’s gone.” She could see the resolution in his eyes, and the honesty, he wasn’t saying that only to hurt her, to drive her away, no, he truly believed in it. She imagined herself sliding down to couch towards him, kissing him hard until he had no other choice but to reciprocate, fuck him once more on the floor. The desire was still there, she certainly could be successful. But what was the point when he clearly didn’t love her anymore? Another fuck wouldn’t fix them. No, she had finally broken them beyond repair.

“That’s it, then? _Bye, Eleanor, good luck with your life. Go be happy with another man. I don’t love you anymore._ Do you really expect me to believe that? God, you’re pathetic.”

He shrugged. Maybe he knew her anger was directed to herself as much as to him. Maybe he just didn’t care. “I wish you all the best. Close the door when you leave, will you?”

She got up from the couch trying to look dignified, but being rejected and looking almost fucked didn’t help. At the door she stopped and gave him one last look, he didn’t seem to care at all what she did…

“Fuck you, Charles.” And slammed the door on her way out.

Still on the floor, Charles laughed. He wasn’t sure about half of the things he told her. But it had been enough to drive her away. He would count it as a win.

*

_When she looks in the mirror, putting up the finishing touches on her make-up, preparing to attend Governor Rogers’ re-election ceremony, Eleanor feels sees a dead queen, a shadow of what she used to be. She runs her kingdom, Nassau prospers, but somewhere in the middle she lost everything that made her human. Mr. Scott, Max and Charles are all gone. Victory tastes bitter once it's overpowered by the love she's missing._

**Author's Note:**

> This is it! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Clearly, I'm not too happy with Eleanor right now. Writing is therapeutic. Plus, I always imagined Eleanor wouldn't be able to give up Charles even after being with Rogers... The show decided I'm wrong, but, oh, well, that's why fan fiction exists.


End file.
